


Harry Meets Skull

by AmiLu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Harry is Skull's Sky, May Or May Not Be Continued, Set after GoF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: Or how Skull crashed his way into Harry's life.





	1. Harry's boring summer is interrupted with a crash

It was just another day at the Dursley’s house.

The sun was beating harshly over the neighborhood and Harry was outside, straining his ear beneath the kitchen window trying to pick up any kind of information concerning suspicious activities that could be linked to the recently resurrected Voldemort.

But there was nothing.

It’s as if nothing of importance had happened at all since June!

Worst of all, his friends were being evasive and mysterious in his letters, and they would not give him any kind of information, either!

Harry was beyond frustrated. His constant nightmares didn’t help at all, either.

_(Kill the spare! — Avada Kedavra! — bone of the father — bow to death, Harry — take the cup and go!)_

The fifteen-year-old wizard had been listening to the low buzz of the television as his Aunt worked on dinner, hastily brushing the sweat that accumulated over his brow while wishing that he was allowed inside, when suddenly the normal day at Number Four, Privet Drive, came to a crashing end.

Literally.

Harry heard the loud crash of glass and broken furniture and was already jumping to his feet, wand in hand. Aunt Petunia screamed—high pitched, horrified and a little frightened, and Harry ran. He threw the kitchen door open without thinking, focused on the pumping of his heart and the heat of the adrenaline running through his veins.

This was it—what he had been expecting—Voldemort’s move.

They were being attacked.

They were being attacked, and even if Harry did not hold any love for his relatives he did not wish them dead so he’d do anything he could to save them and—

A curse was already on his lips, magic buzzing beneath his skin and begging to be used, but the sight when he finally reached the demolished living room stopped him on his tracks.

There were no black cloaks or the bone-white masks of Death Eaters. There was no sing of blasting curses or the heavy feeling of Dark magic. There was no pain on his scar.

Harry blinked owlishly as he had to look down to see the person responsible for the catastrophe.

It was a baby.

A baby wearing way too much purple, and who was picking up a miniature-sized motorcycle from the remains of a glass cabinet that used to shelve delicate china.

What. The. Fuck.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry!” The baby said apologetically when he noticed there were people looking at it. The tiny thing was moving with far too much grace to really be a baby, and—Harry squinted— _were those piercings?!_ “The Great Skull-sama had a tiny little accident,” it explained awkwardly, ruffling purple hair with his free hand. The other was occupied with the handle of the small bike.

Aunt Petunia was gaping, and Harry would have find it hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the same.

“But—Don’t worry! He will pay for the repairs!” The baby continued, grinning confidently in a way that definitely did _not_ belong in the face of an infant. “After all, the Great Skull-sama cannot call himself truly great if he didn’t clean up his mistakes!”

Then, the tiny thing jumped impossibly high and landed over the still standing dinner table and walked towards Petunia. He pulled a huge wallet out of a pocket of his full body suit (and now Harry was almost completely sure that this baby-who-could-not-possibly-be-a-baby was magical) and started counting pounds. Big pounds.

Now, there was no doubt that Petunia Dursley hated abnormalities and that she especially hated anything to do with magic. This being in front of her was obviously both—and she had a frying pan in her hand.

Harry was painfully aware that the woman did not care if the abnormal magical being was a baby or a child or appeared to be one, if she had the tiniest reason to use the frying pan against them, she would.

He didn’t think, he only reacted.

One moment, Harry was watching in horror as the cooking device descended rapidly towards the baby’s head, and the next he had snatched the tiny body from the table, rolled away and clutched him tightly against his chest protectively.

There was a surprised squeak followed by a loud thunk and a brief hiss of pain.

And then the world exploded in colors.


	2. Ron is suspicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron is suspicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I continued this. I don't have a plan, and the chapters will probably all be drabble-ish.
> 
> Thank you for your interest!!! :-)

Ron was not one of the most observing people out there, and he knew it. It was not something that bothered him much anymore, not since he had learned that everyone was different and that what was easy for some was simply impossible for others.

(It had been a hard pill to swallow, and he cannot claim that he found it in any way easy to do so—in fact, he had screwed up monumentally, not only once but two times in regards to his best friend. Jealousy was an ugly feeling, and though he could more or less accept that it was not unfounded, he believed himself mature enough to understand that it was childish. Instead of being jealous for something his friend didn't really have anything to do with—didn't even _want_ to do anything to do with—Ron could look up to his brothers as his role models and work for what he wanted. He could do it—he might not be as intelligent or charming or dutiful or ingenuous as his elder brothers, but he had the determination to do so, and the best friends in the world to support him.

He would not let himself fall back in old patterns and ruin everything.)

So, Ron might not be one of the most observant people, but he had known Harry for five years. He understood him and his moods pretty well, and he knew he was _hiding something from them._

He wasn't sure _what_ , but he was one hundred percent sure that there was something Harry was not telling anybody.

There was an itch, a slight tremor of intuition telling him that it had something to do with the sudden lack of correspondence sometime in July, before Dumbledore sent some members of the order to look for Harry and bring him to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione and Ron had been prepared for burning anger, for explosive temper and shouting, but when the raven haired boy arrived there had been only some disappointment and a little bit of curiosity. Nothing more.

If anything, Harry almost seemed like he would have liked to stay at his relatives'—which did not make sense whatsoever because Ron knew for a fact that Harry _detested_ the Dursleys.

But they couldn't make him talk, no matter what Ron and Hermione tried, so a week after he noticed, he gave up.

He had almost put it completely out of his mind by the time school was about to start, but then Harry got lost before reaching the barrier that separated the muggle station from Platform 9 ¾ and Ron had panicked. The rest of his family and the aurors that were in charge of escorting them safely had been just as frantic, too. Padfoot hadn't stopped barking like mad and his mum looked close to tears. Moody and Tonks had their wands out and everything pointed out to it having been a kidnapping incident and then—

Then Harry walked through the barrier looking harried but fine, and didn't say anything about what had happened except for a brief “I was carried away by a group of muggles going in the opposite direction. I had to elbow my way here.”

But Ron noticed the way in which Harry avoided looking into their eyes, and noticed the particular way in which he was carrying his backpack in front of him—delicately, as if holding something precious—and Ron knew that this had to be connected with Harry's mysterious avoidance.

Now he only had to understand _how._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Remember that you can also reach me on [tumblr](http://kurosakiami01.tumblr.com)!  
> 


	3. Hermione decides they need an intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy sh*t. Thank you so much, guys, for showing so much interest in this little piece of... story.
> 
> This goes to all of you who commented and left kudos, bookmarked, etc., but especially to the nice anon that left me a lovely ask on tumblr! (Anon, you kicked my ass into gear and now here's the drabble I promised! :D)

Hermione knew something was up with Harry.

It had been obvious during summer, after Harry was taken from the Dursleys and introduced to the Order, but it went further than that.

She had expected him to blow up and tell them off, but instead—

Instead, he had been closed off and moody, but not really angry. He had been... missing, in a way. Oh, he was physically there, but his mind… Hermione had lost the count of how many times she caught him staring into space.

Other days, though, he had been deeply concentrated.

He was working on something.

The first time she found him locked in the library she had almost had a heart attack, because she hadn't been expecting anyone to be there (the Order didn't usually venture inside the Black library, and Sirius avoided like the plague. She had only seen Kreacher inside once, but then he had proceeded to insult her and Ron had heard, and somehow the shouting match reached Sirius, who prohibited the elf from entering the place anymore. Hermione still didn't really know how to feel about that.)

Behind towers of dusty books, Harry had jumped a little after she had yelped in shock, and then looked up guiltily. Hermione studied him with her eyes wide with surprise, with questions forming in her mind far too quickly to be able to articulate them. Before she could put her thoughts into words, though, Harry cleared his throat.

“Hermione?”

"What..." she started, and then floundered. What was she supposed to say? "Are you studying?"

"… Yeah."

"Oh." Hermione blinked, stunned. She wasn't expecting that answer, but it made her happy. "For what subject?"

Harry shifted and closed the book carefully. "None. This is..." He hesitated. "... this is a personal project."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "A personal project."

"Uh-huh."

She waited for him to explain, to add something that would help her understand what he meant, but he didn't. So she prompted, "Something about... V-Voldemort?"

Harry's eyes widened minutely behind his glasses, but they were back to normal so quickly she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it. "Uh. Yeah."

Hermione didn't believe him. But what else could he be researching in a book in this particular library?

"Need any help?" she offered, and though she honestly wanted to help him research whatever it was—Harry looking up something for himself, wanting to _learn_ was something that made her proud and incredibly happy—, she also wanted to know what he had gotten himself into this time.

"No," he said, and she was a little bit surprised and a little bit hurt at the sharp edge in his voice. It must have been obvious on her face, because Harry looked immediately contrite. "Ah, uh. Sorry, Hermione. But really, I'm fine. You don't need to... I don't want to distract you from your own studies."

She studied his face for a while, and the hurt hadn't really gone away from her chest. But he seemed honest enough, and she had thought that she may have deserved it, a little bit—being left in the dark. After all, Harry had been left in the dark the whole time he was at the Dursleys, and even if there _was_ a very good reason not to write anything too telling in their correspondence with him, she still felt guilty for not filling him in.

The end of the term had been _hell_ for Harry, and she had known he would be completely shut off from the Wizarding World once he got to the Dursleys.

(Honestly, why couldn't Harry have been brought directly into Grimmauld Place?)

He had gone away after that, taking with him the book he had been reading.

Hermione had tried to offer her help a couple more times when she found him again in the library, but he would refuse every time.

After the third time, she finally gave up and let him to his own devices, but didn't stop hoping for him to tell her and Ron what was going on.

She still held to that hope when they went back to Hogwarts.

But Harry was still _not talking._

Ron had told her that he sneaked out a lot at night, and she worried. At least he was taking the Map and his cloak, but with Umbridge on the prowl for misbehaving students, she didn't think he was being prudent.

"I'm just going to the library," Harry said one night when she finally decided to corner him.

"But why?" she asked, desperately trying to understand. "What is so important that needs you to lose sleep and risk being found out?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly, and looked to one side. "Sorry," he said, and then went out of the portrait hole.

Hermione blinked back tears. He hadn't explained anything. He was shutting them out.

It hurt.

She looked at Ron and saw the same kind of hurt in his eyes, and also the same spark of determination.

They needed to do something.

They needed an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... this said, I don't know when I'm updating again. Hopefully, it won't take me too long xD
> 
> If you wanna talk to me I'm on [tumblr](http://kurosakiami01.tumblr.com)!!


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